


It's Only Sex

by triplenegative



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Circle Jerk, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slurs, i dont know what happened here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25333372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triplenegative/pseuds/triplenegative
Summary: Penkala had sat back down, Skip was working on his buttons for him now, but Perconte still looked wary, even confused. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and finally decided on what to say."Are we… are we really doin' this now?"Luz was the first to reply."Why not?"
Relationships: Donald Malarkey/Skip Muck/Alex Penkala, Frank Perconte/Donald Malarkey, George Luz/Donald Malarkey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	It's Only Sex

**Author's Note:**

> becoming painfully aware that malarkey's ghost probably watched me write this . sorry
> 
> there are homophobic slurs in this fic, but it's fine because it's skip muck

After Bastogne, everyone was on edge. Between constantly fearing for their lives and freezing their asses off, there was a certain tension in easy company's shoulders. 

Of course, it didn't help that if you tried to get off, your short arm would practically freeze solid. Barely anyone had gotten any release in months.

So when Skip Muck had started joking about arranging a circlejerk, Malarkey hadn't been sure it was all jokes. He'd seen the looks shared between Muck and Penkala - he wouldn't be surprised if they'd had an arrangement before Bastogne, or even if they'd made one after. After they'd gotten a direct hit to their foxhole, he figured there wasn't much the two of them feared anymore. Having to look at an unexploded bomb like that, to stare death in the face… Malarkey could hardly imagine.

Either way, it didn't come as a shock to him when he walked in on Penkala taking Muck up on his thinly veiled offers. The two had stopped, looked a little panicked, but once the recognition washed over their faces there wasn't an ounce of fear left in their features. They'd practically invited him to join, and though he'd backed out of the room awkwardly mumbling about giving them privacy, he knew he wanted to accept. He almost hoped they'd ask again despite not knowing what his answer would be. Years of flying under the radar had made him hesitate, and he regretted saying no, but if the opportunity came back up he felt he would probably decline again in a panic.

Of course, it came up again. They were playing cards, and Luz made some stupid joke about bending Skip over the table, and before Malarkey knew it the awkward chuckles had turned to challenges. They'd started by betting small things - simple things, like taking off shirts or telling risqué stories about girls miles away in the states. It was nerve wracking to try to keep his eyes from lingering too long on anyone at the table, and now suddenly bluffing was even harder than it had been before. He'd always had trouble hiding his tells, which had been a problem in catholic school, but now more than ever he was counting on his years of practice to keep anyone from taking notice.

Malarkey was snapped out of his half-developed nervous breakdown when Perconte suggested that the next person to lose had to kiss the winner. Malarkey distantly thought that it was a bit of an odd suggestion to come from an allegedly straight guy, but he supposed nobody had really had much contact for the past few months. He couldn't exactly judge. He'd been thinking about it since boot camp, and the image of Muck and Penkala was still fresh in his mind, try as he might to forget it. He could feel the back of his neck begin to go red, and his cards felt slippery in his sweaty hands. He blinked slowly, half wishing and half praying that nobody would look too close at him.

Malarkey wasn't sure when or why he'd bluffed himself into losing, but when he was suddenly faced with the reality of Luz's winning hand on the table, he began to realize he should have tapped out of the game altogether while he still had the chance. Now, he'd be backing down from a challenge, and he knew he'd never hear the end of it, no matter how the panic in his gut screamed at him to get out. Kissing a fellow soldier was not only against regulations but also every instinct inside Malarkey, and his mouth went dry the longer he thought about how as soon as he leaned in they'd all reveal it was an elaborate plot to fool him, or it would suddenly be obvious how badly he wanted it, or-- Luz made awkward eye contact with him and swallowed, and Malarkey realized he was supposed to initiate the kiss. Skip decided it would be a great time to make a joke, and he nudged Luz.

"What are you, a couple of pansies?"

Luz rolled his eyes, leaning in. Malarkey tried not to shove him away in a panic.

"Shut the fuck up, Skip."

And then Luz was reaching up to cup the side of his face and he was pressing his lips to Malarkey's and it was the best thing that Malarkey had ever felt while panicked to the point of nausea.

It only lasted for a moment, but then Penkala was complaining, "C'mon, you can do more than that," which prompted Perconte to speak up.

"Yeah, we've seen better in the fuckin' movies!"

Malarkey felt out of breath, but Luz retorted with a "fine," and they were kissing again. It was longer this time, and Malarkey finally found it in himself to move, his hands grasping at Luz's sleeves as he desperately tried to kiss Luz with the expertise that Luz was kissing him with. He tried to quiet the voice in his head whispering faggot, pansy, they all know you're a fucking queer, but the room was falling silent as the other three participants were mesmerized by the way Luz and Malarkey were holding on for dear life. Malarkey hated to admit it, but Luz's bragging wasn't all exaggeration; he really was a good kisser. His face was a little scratchy, his scruff rubbing against Malarkey's recently shaven face, but Malarkey found he didn't really mind. 

He let his hand ghost against Luz's jaw, the soft hair tickling his fingers. He felt a dangerous line approaching, and distantly, his brain tried to remind him that they had an audience, that this wasn't real, that it was wrong. But he didn't pull away. Luz stroked the hair at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. He tried to ignore the ache that settled in his chest at the way Luz held him like he was bleeding out on the battlefield, like he was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Despite what Malarkey tried to tell or convince himself otherwise, he felt normal kissing Luz. Even as he moved his hand to Luz's chest and found nothing, he found very little issue letting his hand rest there for just a moment before letting it drag down to his hip, knee, thigh... it was only when Luz reacted by jerking away from the kiss that Malarkey realized that he had crossed the line that he'd felt looming over him before. He panicked, floundering for some kind of excuse, anything to say to get him out of what had been inevitable since the game started. But Luz just cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, straightening his shirt like he hadn't had his hands fisted in Malarkey's moments before- as if Malarkey hadn't felt the stiffness in his pants. Malarkey blinked, disoriented, but he let himself follow suit, settling back into his chair. The room was quiet, and Malarkey took note of how everyone's hands were hidden beneath the table. He wondered what he and Luz had looked like from the outside, or what his best friends had been thinking while they'd sat there watching. He was so on edge he felt about ready to run out of the room, and the tensity of the silence made him want to scream. Of course, Muck had to interrupt his thought.

"You sure do kiss like a couple of pansies!"

Malarkey was instantly defensive, sitting upright in his chair.

"Oh you're one to talk, Muck, you and I both know what's been going on between you and Penkala."

Skip floundered for a moment, but fired back.

"Oh, bullshit. Penk and I aren't a couple of queers!" 

Malarkey’s stomach twisted at Muck’s words, and all he could think to do was get angry. Who the fuck did Skip think he was?

"C'mon Muck, I saw you guys doin' an awful lot more than kissin' for a bet--" 

Penkala interrupted him, shoving his chair back and standing abruptly. Perconte startled, and Malarkey was suddenly aware that Perconte and the table were the only thing between him and Penkala. 

"So then all of us are a bunch of fags, what the fuck happens now?"

Malarkey had no idea what to say to Penkala’s outburst. Perconte began to protest.

“Hey, I’m no fag-”

“Yeah you are!”

Perconte and Luz stared at each other, and Malarkey thought he was missing some subtext. He shifted anxiously in his seat. It was a bit hard to process that everyone in the room shared his secret, but as he considered his options, he distantly realized that there was an opportunity here.

Skip had the same idea. He reached below the table and began to work on the buttons of his pants. Everyone’s eyes shifted away from where Penkala stood beside him and towards his sudden determined movements. Penkala turned to look too, and as he glanced down, he began to look alarmed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Penkala sounded completely incredulous, but Malarkey thought at this point he should have expected Skip to do something stupid. It was his way of deescalating, really. Skip barely gave Penkala a glance, not even pausing his mission to get his pants unbuttoned.

“What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing?”

The table was quiet for a moment, but then Luz was shrugging and beginning to work on his own buttons. He shot Malarkey a nervous glance, but Malarkey just watched him silently, burning the memory of his shaky fingers wrestling with the buttons into his mind. Transfixed, he moved to follow suit, barely thinking about the other men around the table.

Penkala had sat back down, Skip was working on his buttons for him now, but Perconte still looked wary, even confused. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and finally decided on what to say.

"Are we… are we really doin' this now?"

Luz was the first to reply.

"Why not?"

Skip piped up then, his chair pushed right up to Penkala's. He must've done that while Malarkey was distracted.

"You gotta problem with it?"

Perconte seemed to catch up then, and he shook his head, scrambling to catch up and unbutton his own pants. 

"No-- no."

His hands were also shaking, and Malarkey reached over to help him as he fumbled the same button for the sixth time. He let out a shuddering breath as Malarkey's fingers made contact, and he wrapped one hand gently around Malarkey's wrist as he began to work on the buttons. Malarkey was suddenly warmer than he had been before - something about the tenderness of Perconte's touch, the way his breath quickened - and Malarkey became impatient with the buttons, pulling them open rather than working them out of their sockets.

As Malarkey pulled the last button open, Perconte's hand squeezed for a moment, and they made eye contact with each other. Perconte was apprehensive, but when Malarkey tried to withdraw his hand slightly, Perconte's hand tightened again. He was clearly nervous, Malarkey could only assume they all were. They were risking everything for a few moments of bliss after months of frozen terror.

His mind kicked in as he stared at Perconte's deer-in-the-headlights look, and he began to desperately rationalize what he was doing. Perconte was just nervous, all he was doing was helping him out. Giving him a hand, really.

Malarkey allowed his hand to drop to Perconte's waistline and cautiously let a few fingers curl beneath the fabric. Perconte's grip loosened, giving Malarkey the freedom to go forward with what he was doing.

He moved the rest of his hand underneath, softly dragging his hand along the way, taking the top of Perconte's dick. The hushed sounds he made in response tied knots in Malarkey's stomach. He looked up from where the boxers covered his hand to see Perconte's face. He was met with hooded eyes, red cheeks, and chapped lips slightly parted. Emboldened by such a sight, Malarkey brushed his thumb over the tip of Perconte's dick and began to slowly and loosely move his hand back and forth. He was met with a similar low and quiet sound to before as he watched it slip through the parted chapped lips.

He heard a quiet curse beside him and found Luz with his pants pulled halfway down his thighs, his eyes fixed on where Malarkey's hand moved in Perconte's pants. Malarkey's hand slowed and Perconte let out a shaky breath, his hand grasping at Malarkey's wrist. Luz glanced up and met Malarkey's gaze, and when his eyes dropped to Luz's own hand, he slowed his ministrations. He began to put on somewhat of a show for Malarkey. As he began twisting his hand up and down his length, his hips rolling languidly and his mouth falling open, Perconte wrapped his hand around Malarkey's limp fingers and began to move again, this time letting his hips jerk against Malarkey's hand.

Perconte made a choked noise and Malarkey dragged his gaze back to what he was doing, suddenly remembering to tighten his grip. He faltered at the sight that greeted him, and he became aware that his dick was straining against the fabric of his half buttoned pants. Perconte's eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth was partially open, his hips stuttering against Malarkey's hand. He was close, and he looked it. 

Malarkey swore under his breath, beginning to fumble with the rest of the buttons on his pants. It was a struggle with one occupied hand and eyes fixed on the face Perconte was making, half like he was bracing for a grenade and half like he'd never felt anything better. Malarkey could barely tear his eyes away when Luz reached over to help with his buttons, both hands swatting Malarkey's hand away and making quick work of what Malarkey hadn't been able to undo. Malarkey felt the first ghostly touches of Luz's hands against his stomach, trying to slip beneath his underwear, caressing down his inner thigh--

Perconte's hand, still holding onto Malarkey's wrist for dear life, squeezed hard. His hips jerked and he made a strange half-sigh half-groan sound, his body perfectly still except for the tremors of his thighs, one of his legs braced against the nearest table leg. He was still for a few moments, and as Malarkey withdrew his hand with a sense of urgency spurred on by Luz's hands fluttering over his dick, Perconte's whole body relaxed. He let out a soft sigh, and Malarkey wondered in the back of his mind when the last time Perconte had gotten off was.

He abandoned the thought as Luz finally wrapped a hand around his dick, his head briefly rolling back against the cracked headrest of his chair. A few blissful moments passed where all Malarkey could think of was Luz's hands on him, until it occurred to him that he should return the favor. He lolled his head to the side, his breath coming in short huffs, and reached for the exposed skin of Luz's thigh. At first contact, Luz's breath shuddered, and Malarkey found himself squeezing his eyes shut and grasping at the muscle hidden beneath layers of skin, Luz scratching the legs of his chair against the floor to get as close to Malarkey as he was allowed.

The sound of the chair moving coaxed Malarkey into opening his eyes, his gaze meeting Luz's once more. He looked away within moments, his gut twisting- it was strange, he'd been kissing Luz just minutes before, and now he could barely look in his eyes.

He focused instead on properly returning the favor, reaching for where Luz was touching himself with the same urgency as he touched Malarkey. He gently nudged Luz's hand away, replacing it with his own, and the quiet groan he earned in response made him feel dizzy.

He blinked slowly, and looked across the table, where Muck and Penkala only had eyes for each other. Their foreheads were pressed together, their shoulders rubbing like they had so many times before. During meals, in their foxholes, before a jump, Muck and Penkala were attached at the hip, and now was no different. They'd only gotten closer after Bastogne, but then again, they all had. Still, Malarkey had spent his fair share of nights laying awake, wondering what it would be like to be as close to someone as they were to each other.

Muck and Penkala shared a breathless smile, a shuddering gasp, and Malarkey looked away. It felt like he was interrupting something.

His eyes landed on Luz's hand around his dick, but that immediately made him practically cum in his pants, so he looked at the ceiling instead. He focused on his breathing, letting his eyes squeeze shut. Luz's head fell against his shoulder, his breath hitching and sighing in time with the friction of Malarkey's hand. 

Malarkey found it hard to think, to figure out what he was feeling. Amazing, fantastic, pleasure, and a helluva lot of guilt. Even still, he wanted it to last forever. He kept himself focused on making sure Luz felt the same, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and trying not to think about the pit growing in his stomach alongside the growing tightening of his muscles. He could tell the end was nearing, his brain starting to go fuzzy as he lost his rhythm. Luz gasped, and Malarkey thought it was over - until he heard Luz breathe his name, and that was enough. 

Luz must have finished too, by the time Malarkey came back down his hand was damp and Luz was redoing his assortment of buttons. Malarkey followed suit, glancing anxiously at the other men at the table. He felt guilty, embarrassed, thrilled -- Perconte was shooting glances his way too, and if Malarkey was reading it right, he almost looked appreciative.

Malarkey felt the urge to get away, and the others didn't exactly look like they wanted to mingle. He straightened out his uniform as he stood, painfully aware of everyone's eyes on him. He wasn't sure what to say; how does one gracefully depart an illegal homosexual encounter? But he gave a short smile to no one in particular, and turned to leave. Muck and Penkala followed his lead, taking their leave with a pair of short goodnights.

"Not even gonna stay for the after-party?" Luz called after him, his jovial tone almost jarring after the way he had gasped and panted and whispered Malarkey's name.

"I think I hear the captain calling," he replied, shooting a half grin over his shoulder, looking at Perconte rather than Luz. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to look at Luz the same for a while - or any of them, for that matter, but especially Luz, who he'd kissed. The one who'd whispered his name as he came.

He swallowed hard as he pushed the door open, heading in the vague direction of the building they were calling barracks for the time being. His chest felt tight, and he resisted the urge to run. He was beginning to feel sick, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into an uncomfortable bunk and bury his head into the closest pillow-shaped object, whatever it may be.

Speirs nearly stopped him at the door, opening his mouth to address Malarkey, but the look on his face must have said enough, and instead Speirs nodded and continued on his way. Malarkey let out a quiet breath of relief and marched up the stairs, stumbling into his thankfully empty room and collapsing onto his bed.

He wasn't surprised when the first sob left him, though he was a bit startled by the sound he made. He buried his face beneath his blanket and into the thin mattress below him, his body shaking as he tried to be quiet. He didn't even really know what he was crying about - the way Luz had whispered his name like it was a desperate prayer? The way Perconte had come apart under his hand? The fact that he'd done any of it at all?

He felt like he couldn't breathe, his gasping and shuddering all too recently familiar. It was almost poetic, the way his tears reminded him of the reason he was sobbing his guts out into a bed he could barely call his own. 

It took several minutes for him to find his bearings again, his breathing evening out and his body relaxing with exhaustion. His face was unpleasantly tacky with sweat and tears, but he didn't care to try and clean it off yet. As far as he was concerned, it was all sweat, just like it always was. He halfheartedly wiped his nose and stared at the wall, idly mesmerized the details of the way the wallpaper cracked and peeled. It must have been beautiful when it was new, a brightly colored floral pattern to compliment the afternoon sun that shone through the window on the rare days it wasn't overcast.

The silence of his watery breathing was broken by the sound of another shelling decimating the streets, and by instinct he bolted upright and began the familiar dash downstairs. He'd grabbed his helmet at some point along the way, and as he stumbled downward alongside his fellow soldiers, everything that had just happened felt like a distant and unimportant memory.

Minutes later, as the shelling died down, someone grabbed him by the elbow and told him that Captain Winters was looking for him. There was going to be a patrol, and they needed a ranking officer to lead the men.

He had wiped his face on the walk to find the captain, knowing there was nothing he could do to hide the weariness in his eyes or the way his body was aching with a fresh wave of dehydration. He only hoped that nobody would mention it, after so many months of hell he felt he deserved the right to look like shit. He saw the grim look on the captain's face as he approached and sighed, the rest of the day's turmoil forgotten.

It was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> i did not proofread this! thanks for your time, feel free to comment mistakes or parts that made you want to commit a crime against me <3


End file.
